Verse 03 - Skyline Just Hit the Groung
by LaueHime
Summary: Underneath a Stretching Skyline verse #03. Sam has vanished just like that and Dean has no idea where his brother is. He doesn't like that. What he finds, he likes even less.


**Title: **Skyline Just Hit the Ground, verse #03

**Author: **LaueHime

**Rating: **Mature

**Genre/pairing: **Angst, H/C, Gen

**Characters: **Sam, Dean

**Word count:** +/- 3,050

**Warnings: **Some cussing, spoilers for s7, alcohol abuse.

**Summary: **Sam has vanished just like that and Dean has no idea where his brother is. He doesn't like that.

Written for spnshannanigans's prompt on ohsam which is "Sam's memories from hell threaten to overwhelm him every moment of every day. To calm the storm in his head, he comes to rely on either drugs or alcohol (or both). Dean allows this to continue (for now anyway) because he doesn't know how to help Sam and he can't stand the screaming"

**Disclaimer: **The show belongs to Kripke.

**A/N: **This is a series of verses. Every chapter can be read as a standalone story. But of course, it'll make more sense if you've read them all (or at least most of them). Each verse has its own title based on the lyrics of the song the fic is named after.

Feedback is love. Enjoy!

SNSNSNSNSNSN

Dean was out of his mind. His heart was racing as fast as the motor of his muscle car when he pushed it to its limits. He gripped the wheel tighter, blood draining from his knuckles and leaving his hands pale and cool. The Impala sped down the road and Dean maneuvered it just enough to keep it on track.

Truth is, he'd been on a hunt with Sam for the past few days and they had finally managed to get rid of the monster during the afternoon. His little brother had been quiet all day but his silence became tangible by the time Dean's stomach screamed out of hunger. The eldest left the motel to get them some grub. When he came back, he found the motel empty. No gigantic brothers were in the perimeter.

At first, he didn't think too much of it. Maybe Sam had gone out to get some ice or even some beer. But when he didn't see anyone walk passed the front door of the room after almost an hour, his mind set on overdrive.

"What the hell, Sam?" he grunted, shuffling for his phone.

He tried it a first time and waited for the tone to change. A glimmer of hope appeared when he heard Sam's voice until he realized, a quarter of a second later, that he had reached his brother's voicemail. He waited for the beep, exhaling loudly.

"Sam? Where the hell are you? Call me back when you get this, you understand me?" he stated firmly. He thought he could add _I'm worried, man_ but the words never ventured farther than into his thoughts.

After another half hour of pacing, he decided that he'd be damned if he just sat around and waited for the kid to suddenly appear. Maybe Sam _had _gone out for something and _something_ had found him instead. Or maybe his brother had left with Lucifer again, just like that one time when he had found Sam in that warehouse. That's the part that actually unsettled him the most. Maybe Sam didn't think he was alone when he left.

But Dean did find that Sam's duffle was still in the room. It led him to think that Sam might have gone out for the night intentionally, but then he couldn't understand why his brother would just up and leave without telling him. Sam knew better than to hide this kind of things from Dean. At least he hoped his brother did.

Sam hadn't exactly been Sam for a while. The nightmares were still present and Sam would still wake up in the middle of the night, shaking; especially when the youngest thought his brother wasn't awake to notice. But Dean had been in motel rooms with his brother long enough to be able to tell when the kid wasn't having a good night. He could almost even predict the nights when nightmares would occur. Nowadays, chances were fifty-fifty.

Dean searched the parking lot and tried to remember the setting of cars, in case Sam had decided to steal one for his own fun. Fortunately – or not – Dean found that cars were right where they had been when he had left. There were no signs of a fight either. He even risked asking the clerk. The old shabby looking man couldn't tell him anything. He couldn't have seen either; too caught up with his TV channel to even notice if someone were to die right in front of him.

Dean didn't think that this was comforting in any way.

He tried the grocery store and the gas station. He then tried the diner and even the mall in case his brother had decided to have a girl moment. Sure enough, he didn't find any Sasquatch where he looked. He was trying to remain in the vicinity either way because he didn't think Sam would have made it so far on foot.

But then a dark thought hit him. It was so unlike Sam that it sounded wrong to even consider it. Hell, it could be true for him but Sam… it just sounded incredibly unlikely.

Well guess again, Dean. That's what he cursed at when he found his brother in the place he less expected him to be. Sam was hunched over the bar, twisting a leftover of liquor between shaky fingers. The kid looked far gone already and Dean suddenly didn't know what to do because this was so un-_Sam_-like.

He calmly walked in his brother's direction and managed to remain careful. He didn't know in what state Sam would be. The kid could be all sorts of things when he was drunk. He'd seen the goofy smiles enough, but something nagged him about it. Somehow, he just knew that this wasn't the state his brother would be in this time.

He silently sat beside his brother. Sam didn't even bother to look up. Dean raised a finger for the bartender to join him. The other guy was rather large. He was definitely bigger than Dean, but still a few inches shorter than Sam. His little brother was such a big guy after all… nothing and no one could compare, not even if they tried.

The bartender reached him with a somber look. Dean pointed at Sam's glass and pulled up two fingers. The other man shook his head.

"Sorry, man. I'm not giving one more drop of anything to this guy" he said, pointing to Sam.

Dean saw the mop of brown hair move up and sure enough, a pair of glassy – drunk out of his mind – eyes stood up from behind long bangs. Sam held the bartender's gaze seriously and chugged the only liquor he had left.

Dean felt sorry for the other guy. Sam getting drunk, he could handle. But he knew that very few had the patience he had. Actually, nobody really knew how to handle Sam the way he did.

"Give him a coffee then and I'll have a shot" Dean tried again.

The bartender nodded, but he kept a watchful eye out for Sam.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, turning his gaze to his brother.

"Ya know what…fuuck you D'n" Sam slurred, swaying slightly on his seat even though he was sitting.

Dean was starting to feel his anger build up inside of him but years of experience clued him in on the fact that blowing a gasket wouldn't lead him anywhere with Sam. Especially not when his brother was that intoxicated.

"What the fuck did I even do to you, uh? Except trying to be nice!" Dean pointed out. Honestly, he just didn't get it. Sam wasn't one to shun him away. Well, usually not…

Sam scowled at him with that very petulant face he'd been using far too much lately.

"Why w'ld you try t'be anything t'me? I don't need you t'watch out for me like m'fucking five 'nymore, Deaan!"

The way Sam's voice wailed on his name made him frown in indignation. That's how his brother thanked him for all his efforts? Politeness be damned if that's how Sam wanted to have it.

"I told you that! I'll start treating you like an adult when you start acting like one!"

Sam was obviously peeved.

"The fuck d'you think you are?"

The bartender walked in between them and glared at them both.

"Boys, if you want to have that kind of argument, I suggest you take that outside. I hear some customers are complaining already"

Sam scowled at him with the face of an annoyed teenager.

"Fuuck you, man"

Dean saw the way the other guy's fists clenched and even though Sam was definitely bigger, his brother was in no condition to fight and that bartender just looked like he wanted to put him six feet under.

"Sorry… he's having kind of a rough week" Dean apologized to the guy.

The bartender hardly looked at him and then turned to Sam before motioning to the door.

"Out. You two" he stated. Dean could tell that it wasn't a proposition. He nodded and grabbed his brother by the shoulders of his jacket. Sam might be bigger but he could get lanky when he was drunk and manhandling him could become very easy if you knew how to do it.

Dean pushed Sam outside and into the fresh cool air of the night. He studied his brother sadly. Sam was trying to regain his balance. The youngest wiped the spit away from his chin with the rim of his sleeve.

"That jerk! Lemme get back in n' show him who he's messin' with"

Dean pushed himself in front of his brother and blocked him.

"No you're staying right here and we're going back home. What was that, Sam? Seriously? This is so not like you!"

"How woud'you know? You don't know shit!" Sam spat.

Dean swallowed and took deep and painful breaths.

"Then tell me! This isn't you, Sam! This… the bar, the drinking… that's what I do! My Sam, he locks himself up and sulks for days at a time but he doesn't get shitfaced drunk!"

Sam grimaced. He swallowed and Dean knew his voice would be lower even before Sam opened his mouth to speak. It was just written all over his face and damn it if he couldn't read that kid just like that damned open book that he used to be. That was the thing really… it was how Sam _used_ to be.

"He's dead, Dean. Your Sam…'S dead. 'S burnin' n' Hell"

Dean felt his heart break a little more when he saw his brother's eyes and understood that Sam had meant it. He had meant it to come out this way and even sober, he could've replied the same thing –_except definitely not so slurred_. He didn't really know what to say to that either. Instead of replying, he stared at Sam wistfully.

The kid was all kinds of messed up. His mop of hair was a mess and his eyes were glassy and red-rimmed. On top of that there was the whole drunken mannerism and the swaying.

Dean sighed, crestfallen.

"C'mon, kiddo. Let's get you home" he proposed.

He was surprised to see that Sam didn't resist. He followed like a good little boy and Dean took comfort in that very small gesture. It proved that deep down, Sam still trusted him a little. His little brother was still in there somewhere.

He had to drag his brother all the way back because Sam could hardly stand straight, let alone move forward. To make things worse, he couldn't seem to remember where they were or even where they were going.

"D'n" he called out suddenly with that scared little-boy's voice.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"Don't feel good" he finally admitted.

Dean couldn't even deny that. With the amount of alcohol his brother had ingested, even with his gigantic size, he wasn't going to feel well for a while.

"It's usually what happens when you think your stomach is a pool that needs to be filled with whiskey" Dean teased although he remained serious.

Sam seemed to space out for milliseconds and a weird smile crept up his lips.

"Hmmm swimmin' n' a pool f'whiskey" he echoed dreamily.

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Whatever you say, Sasquatch. Gonna regret it in the mornin'" Dean announced.

As if on cue, Sam bended to the side and retched. Dean had to pull his head away from the mess to keep his own stomach safe.

"You let it out. Feel better after it's over"

He heard the gagging and coughing he assumed was his brother spitting up the remaining bile.

"You're so gonna hate yourself in the mornin'" Dean pointed out with a slight lopsided grin.

"Already do" Sam mumbled under his breath. Dean heard it but he chose to let it go for the time being because he didn't want his drunken brother to turn all emo on him.

"Nah you love being the center of attention" Dean replied after a while. Sam didn't answer anything.

When they got back to the motel, Dean manhandled Sam into the bathroom first. Sam had to bathe just enough to remove the smell of puke and cigarettes or Dean wouldn't be able to sleep in the same room. He managed to strip his enormously weepy brother to his boxers.

Sam complied and whined while Dean washed him quickly. Sometimes, when his little brother really clamed up on himself, Dean couldn't even touch him without him flinching away. He tried not to take it personal, assuming that this had to have something to do with having your soul trapped in a cage with Lucifer using it as a chew toy for over a decade and a half.

Sam was really out of it. He was hardly even conscious when Dean dressed him back up and put him to bed. He moaned at times and by the end of the night, the eldest could even tell what the different moans meant. The one he had learned first was the sickening moan Sam made when he had heartburns. Surely enough, Dean had to grab the garbage can when he heard that sound.

His little brother was really intoxicated but he'd pull through with – probably – a bout of nausea and the mother of all headaches. When Sam woke up the next morning, his Gatorade was waiting for him with two tablets of aspirin. He took them gratefully.

Dean was already dressed and sat on the other bed, watching the youngest as he silently cleaned the guns.

"Been watching me sleep?" Sam mumbled, his voice still hoarse from sleep. To second that, he let out a large yawn.

"Just making sure you weren't dying while you had your beauty rest"

Sam blinked at him. He looked preoccupied too.

"You had to clean up my mess again, didn't you?"

Dean looked up at him and paused.

"Well, I wouldn't be me if I didn't" he finally replied.

Sam started to shake his head. He actually looked doleful.

"Don't" he retorted simply.

Dean stopped moving altogether and stared at his brother with a puzzled frown.

"Come again"

"Don't clean after me. Go out, make friends. Do the things you like to do. And stop cleaning after me. I can take care of myself"

Dean let out a puff of air as if he didn't agree with Sam. In fact, he didn't think he could, even though he wanted to.

"Oh, I saw that alright. You disappear before I come back. You don't leave a message. You don't answer your fucking phone! Do you have any idea how I feel when you do that? When I know Lucifer's never really far away and when I still have to watch out for you in case you decide to fly the cuckoo's nest"

Sam felt smothered and anger built despite his brother's good intentions.

"You sayin' you don't trust me?"

Dean sighed and actually had to drop his weapons down. Having that kind of conversations with his brother while he cleaned his Barreta felt a little odd, anyway.

"I'm saying… you gotta work with me, man. Help me trust you. Answer your damn phone for starters"

Sam reached out for his cell and saw for the first time that he did have a number of missed calls and missed text messages from his brother.

"Sorry… got caught up and didn't check my phone…"

He rolled his eyes. Dean didn't like how Sam really looked like his teenager self when he'd been caught doing something bad and tried to vindicate himself by rationalizing.

"Then leave a note before you leave! I don't know, Sam! You're supposed to be the smart one"

Sam rolled his eyes again. That annoyed Dean even more because Sam didn't look like he believed him and he had meant that.

"Yeah well, you're trying to tell me what to do, yet you do the same thing all the time. You're going to tell me to stop drinking? Stop going to the bar because it's not 'like me'?"

The youngest was heating up again. Dean kept his calm. He knew heating up would mean nothing and it wouldn't help his brother.

"No. You do what you want. You wanna drink yourself into that lousy oblivion, well, be my guest"

"Good" Sam snapped sharply. He wasn't planning to quit that, anyway.

"But let me tell you something that I actually know what the hell I'm talking about. Don't go thinking that it's gonna make it all go away because it won't. Your shit will always come back and smack you straight in the face, no matter how far away you try to run"

Sam swallowed. That was one advice that wouldn't fall on deaf ears even though he would've liked to rationalize around it so that it wouldn't sound like the truth. The youngest didn't find anything more to say. He looked down despondently.

That night when he poured himself another shot of whiskey, he tried to forget what Dean had said. After drinking half a bottle, he couldn't even remember his name or even why the palm of his hand hurt so much.


End file.
